


they who sing through the summer must dance in the winter

by haiplana



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Beijing 2022 Winter Olympics, Competition, Curling, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Ice Skating, Maybe - Freeform, Sexual Tension, Snowboarding, Speed Skating, boy gottmik, figure skater denali, figure skater olivia, most of them are gay?, snowboarder gottmik, snowboarder rosé, speed skater symone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29896704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haiplana/pseuds/haiplana
Summary: It’s the 2022 Winter Olympics, and there are more out LGBTQ athletes than ever before. Denali Foxx, figure skater and first-time Olympian, is ready to lutz her way to gold with no distractions; what she isn’t expecting is to constantly cross paths with carefree Scottish snowboarder Rosé McCorkell, who Denali can’t seem to keep her mind off of.orthe epic highs and lows of the winter olympics
Relationships: Denali Foxx/Rosé
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	they who sing through the summer must dance in the winter

**Author's Note:**

> hi welcome back to my channel! if you don't know me my name is haiplana, ao3 famous writer with a passion for Rosénali  
> (if you didn't get that was Trixie I'm so sorry)
> 
> anyway this is the most low-involvement writing I've done in a very long time because I'm very busy but this AU is one that I live and die for (and it's basically a re-vamped version of my Avalance Winter Olympics AU)
> 
> I'm sorry that it's written like a film but I'm currently writing a screenplay so it's going to feel more like a series of scenes than a story, and if you don't notice that then great! I hope you enjoy

“Denali, honey, it’s time to wake up.”

Denali screws her face up before taking a gasping breath. The drone of the plane engine is loud in her ears and the dryness of her mouth has her reaching immediately for her water before she even opens her eyes — and what she gets is her left-over Jack Daniel’s and ginger ale. She had been in such a deep sleep that being woken up is almost physically painful. It gets even worse when Olivia, seated beside her, reaches up and turns the overhead lights on. The young figure skater is great for morale, but can be _exhausting_ outside of competition.

Denali squints at her. “What the hell, Liv?”

Olivia’s practically bouncing in her seat. “We’re landing in half an hour.” She grabs Denali’s arm on the armrest, jolting Denali just as she takes a sip of Jack and ginger. It gets forced down her throat awkwardly, and she coughs. “God, I’m so excited.”

“Where’s Symone?” Denali chokes out.

“I’m right here,” Symone says from behind them. The speed skater’s head pops over the seats, and Denali twists to see her. “How’s that smooth taste going for you, baby?”

Denali glares at her and puts her drink down, actually finding her water and sipping it this time. “Fantastic,” she mutters.

Olivia leans close to Symone. “Denali’s a little grumpy.”

“Mhm.” Symone and Olivia laugh, way too loud for Denali’s half-hungover, half-jet-lagged brain.

“Wow, gossip about me when I’m right next to you. How mature.” Denali pulls her phone from her mess of blankets and detangles herself from her headphones. Her music stopped playing a while ago, definitely while she was asleep, and her phone is almost dead already. “Is there still WiFi?”

“Yep,” Olivia says before turning to look down the aisle, where the flight attendants are beginning to hand out breakfast trays to the plane, which is full of the entire American skating coalition — figure and speed.

Denali connects to the WiFi and waits a moment for her phone to catch up, praying that her battery lasts them until the hotel. When her notifications come in, she has to take a moment — she has a million tweets, Instagram tags, even some Facebook notifications — before she remembers that the _Out Magazine_ issue came out today. She finds the digital issue and opens it just as her phone shuts off.

“Great.” Denali tosses her phone on the tray table. “Liv, can you pull up the _Out_ issue?”

2018 was an amazing year for LGBTQ athletes. The Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, South Korea boasted fifteen out, queer athletes from different nations. Gus Kenworthy, Adam Rippon, and Brittany Bowe were stand-out stars both for their athletic excellence and their outness, inspiring LGBTQ youth across America to be achieve their goals authentically.

Denali Foxx is among the even bigger group of out LGBTQ athletes heading to Beijing to compete in the 2022 Winter Olympics, and the importance of that isn’t lost on her. Denali’s sexuality and her Mexican and Jewish heritage have been an inspiration throughout her life and her skating career, and she takes the responsibility to represent those communities as seriously as she does winning the gold medal. Her Chicago queer community has lifted her up from dark times and helped her make it to the Olympics, and she knows she has a world of queer people watching her every move — no pressure.

Olivia gets the _Out_ _Magazine_ issue on her iPad and hands it to Denali, leaning on the armrest to read with her. Symone leans over their shoulders. The cover art is beautiful — photos of all the athletes in their best outfits have been spliced together to create a wintery rainbow array. There’s at least thirty out athletes, with eight Americans — more than double the last Olympics. It’s a long issue, with each athlete getting their own shoot and two-page spread. Denali scrolls through, looking at the faces, flags, and action-shots that accompany the various names.

Olivia gasps and points at the screen when they get to a person with a full face of white makeup wearing a gorgeous white-and-black ruffled gown. “ _Who_ is that?”

“Aw, that’s Mik,” Symone says. She reaches down and takes the iPad for a closer look. “Kade Gottmik, but he mostly just goes by his last name.”

“He’s _beautiful_ ,” Olivia grabs the iPad, now, scrolling through his spread.

“He’s the first trans person to compete in the Olympics.” Symone smiles fondly at the photos. “My little femme boy, I love him so much. He lives near me in LA.”

Denali watches Olivia zoom in on the pictures, then takes the iPad back with a laugh. “I think _someone_ has a crush on Gottmik.”

Olivia blushes and shrinks into her seat.

Denali finishes reading about Mik and scrolls onto the next one — and she stops, has to keep her jaw from dropping. The woman on the page is _stunning_ , with a sharp jawline and rich auburn hair, big, piercing eyes. Her main photo shows her in a bright pink ski jacket and green plaid pants, but another picture in the spread is what draws Denali’s attention — captioned _A Scot who can do both!_ , it’s split into two photos. The first has her in a feminine highlands dress with a furry cap and bagpipes sticking out from her arms, and the second shows her in the male version, a tartan kilt with a tux, vest, shirt and tie on top.

Denali’s mouth grows dry, and now she purposely reaches for her Jack and ginger.

“Rosie!” Olivia exclaims, now over her embarrassment and looking at the iPad again.

It’s then that Denali realizes she didn’t even read the woman’s name. “Who?”

“Rosé.” Olivia points at it in bold type. “Rosé McCorkell, New York snowboarding legend.”

“How do you know her?” Denali asks.

Olivia shrugs. “Long story, I guess, but we run in the same circles at home, mutual friends and all that. She’s so nice. Oh, I can’t wait to see her.”

Denali looks back at the iPad, at Rosé’s eyes that captivate her so much. Something stirs in her chest and it makes her uncomfortable. She laughs weakly. “I hate being the only one from Chicago, I feel like I’m not going to know anyone.”

“You know us, baby,” Symone says, patting her head, “we’ll keep you company.”

The flight attendants reach their rows, so Symone sits back down. They get their breakfasts, and Denali and Olivia scramble to clean up their tray tables so they have somewhere to eat.

“Do you mind if I keep this for a little?” Denali asks, nodding at the iPad. Olivia shakes her head and digs into her food.

Denali tries to pick at her own meal, but it’s pretty unappetizing. She instead focuses on reading through Rosé’s spread. Her story is unique — she lived in Scotland until she was ten, then moved to the United States with her family. She’s been snowboarding her entire life and rose through the competitions in middle and high school, got a degree in musicaltheater while competing in the midwest, then moved to New York to try her hand at Broadway before settling on snowboarding. Denali learns her story to the smallest detail, but she’s so fascinated by this woman that it inspires a litany of questions.

Breakfast ends, and the plane begins its final descent, meaning Denali has to put Olivia’s iPad away. She doesn’t have any music to entertain her, so she settles on staring out the window at the clouds and wondering if Rosé is reading her article, too.

* * *

Rosé bends her knees, skips high and lets out a whoop. “We’re fuckin’ here, mate!” She lands, practically on top of Gottmik, and she claps her hands over his shoulders. “ _Göttmaek_!”

“Shut up with that phony Scottish accent.” Gottmik shoves Rosé away. They’re on a busy Beijing street acting like fools, and neither of them could care less.

Rosé frowns. “First of all, rude,” she says, back in her American accent. “Second of all, how can it be phony when I _literally_ had an accent until I was fifteen?”

“Ooh, now that you’re on Team GB and repping your homeland, are you going to pretend like you never lost it?” Gottmik laughs. “Every interview, it’s going to be, ‘Rosé, what’s it like competing for Scotland?’” He holds an imaginary microphone in front of his face. “‘It’s fookin graet, it’s like ah never laeft.’”

“Oh yeah? How about, ‘Gottmik, how’d you throw that ten-eighty?’” Rosé tightens her throat to _really_ get that vocal fry. “‘Ugh, gorge, I really just did it, you know? I just, I can’t even, it was just— gagatrondra.’”

They burst into laughter, stopping on the sidewalk to double over. Passersby give them strange looks and shove their way around them until finally Rosé stands and pulls Gottmik out of the way. They’s stopped in front of some kind of market, probably miles from where they started and nowhere near the place they meant to go.

“I think we’re lost,” Rosé says.

Gottmik gestures between them. “You really thought a bimbo and a himbo could find their way through Beijing?”

“I had my hopes.” Rosé pulls out her phone and opens the Maps app, looking for the closest public transit. “Let’s just head back to the Village.”

They make their way to the transit, taking in the energy of Beijing as they do. Neither of them have been this far from home, all the way across the world just to compete for the world’s biggest title in their sport. Rosé’s been waiting for this experience since the first time she shuffled her little board through the Scottish snow.

She thought that moving to Texas would kill her dream of going to the Olympics, but it just allowed her to prove her dedication to the sport. She worked hard enough in school to take Fridays off, made sixteen-hour drives every week just to ski in Colorado, flew throughout the midwest looking for the right snow, the right coaches, the right competitions. It also gave her the freedom to explore her other passions; despite her love for theater, her heart always belonged on the mountain, so to the mountain she went.

Finally, at thirty-one, she’s made it to the Olympics after years of losing blood, sweat, tears, and _money_.

Beside her, Gottmik stares out the transit window. He’s always been one for people-watching, Rosé’s noticed, and he’s scary observant. It’s one of the things that makes them a great pair — Rosé’s inclination is to hide herself away, to bottle everything inside herself and only show perfection on the outside. Mik is the opposite; he’s an open book, effortlessly perfect and carefree. They’ve known each other for years, but after training together for the last three months, Rosé is proud to say she’s adopted some of Gottmik’s attitude.

Rosé’s phone vibrates, and she looks at what’s come on the screen — a tag on Instagram from @livlux. Rosé smiles and opens it, seeing the post that Olivia’s made. The first few photos are from figure skating training, the next from the plane — Olivia’s seated next to a beautiful brunette with an angular face, and behind them is a gorgeous dark-skinned woman. The last two are taken from the _Out Magazine_ issue (that Rosé really needs to take the time to read), one showcasing the brunette — Denali Foxx, figure skater — and the other with her own name and picture.

@livlux: _We are on the way! Thank you to the US Skating Coalition for a fantastic month of training. Also, congrats to my friends @omgheyrose and @denalifoxx on this amazing spread! Your authenticity and bravery inspires me every day._

Rosé smiles. Olivia is truly one of the sweetest people she’s met — they haven’t spoken in a while, and yet she’s featured Rosé in this adorable Instagram post. Rosé likes it and comments _you are the sweetest!_ before looking at the post again. She gets caught on the group photo from the plane, and that girl. Her brown eyes seem to be looking right through the camera and at Rosé. Rosé clicks on her profile.

“She’s cute,” Gottmik says, leaning over Rosé’s shoulder. Rosé holds her phone against her chest, and Gottmik laughs. “Don’t worry, gorge, she’s not my type. All yours.”

Rosé looks back at her phone. “Who are you going to hook up with while we’re here? A French dude? A woman from the Jamaican bobsled team?”

“Both, and more, probably. What about you?” He points to Rosé’s phone screen. “This girl?”

Rosé studies the profile that belongs to Denali Foxx. If Rosé didn’t know she was a figure skater, it wouldn't be hard to figure out from the _many_ reels of her doing spins and jumps. Her body moves beautifully on the ice and looks just as good off of it in photos from the gym, where her muscles are on full display beneath spandex. Rosé swallows thickly.

Gottmik holds up his phone. “I looked her up on that _Out_ thing, she’s really cool.”

“Lemme see.” Rosé practically snatches the phone from his hand and squints to read the small print. “From Fairbanks, Alaska, trained in Salt Lake before moving to Chicago…” Rosé reads farther down. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“She was outed.”

“Fuck, that sucks,” Gottmik says. He thinks for a moment. “You should hook up with her.”

Rosé rolls her eyes. “I probably won’t even get to meet her.”

“How’d you even find her profile?” Gottmik asks.

“She skates with my friend Olivia.” Rosé looks down at Denali’s spread again and zooms in on a picture of her in a ‘50s diner outfit on rollerblades, which is absolutely adorable.

“Why don’t you ask her to set you two up?” Gottmik is grinning, which Rosé feels before she even looks away from his phone. “Ask to meet up at the opening ceremony, maybe they’ll want to go to a party after.”

“That’s…” Rosé looks around. It’s almost their stop. “That’s not a terrible idea.”

“Perf. I already followed her for you.” Gottmik holds up Rosé’s phone — how he got that, she doesn’t even know, and the only thing that’s keeping her from grabbing his throat is that she’s paralyzed by that little _following_ button under Denali’s name.

* * *

_@omgheyrose followed you_.

Denali almost missed the notification in the swarm of other ones coming in all at once (a reminder that she needs to change her notification settings later) — but there it was, in a banner all of its own. She can’t explain the blush on her face or the way her heart races, but the longer she looks at it the more confused she is.

Rosé McCorkell, snowboarding extraordinaire, a _complete_ stranger, just followed her on Instagram.

Denali tries to forget the fact that Rosé is fucking hot, that she can pull off any look, from high femme to straight-up butch, that she probably has a sexy accent, that she’s sure she carries herself with a confident attitude. She isn’t sure when she created this image for Rosé in her mind, when she saw a few pictures and decided she knew exactly who this person was — and it’s kind of terrifying. There’s too much at stake in these games — too much pressure from her community, her country, and herself.

So, Denali does what she does best — she compartmentalizes. She shuts it down, every idea she’s had about this woman, this _stranger_ who is probably annoying in reality, who’s probably just a carefree, careless snowboarder who isn’t _half_ as serious about the Olympics as Denali is.

There’s no time for women.

With a huff, Denali decides she’s napped long enough and is ready to go to the gym. They only have a few hours until the opening ceremony, but she thinks she can do some cardio and shower before it’s time to go. The Olympic Village apartments are small, mostly two-bedroom lofts with a living room and kitchenette, and luckily Denali got the single bedroom. She can hear Symone and Olivia squealing and cackling on the other side of the door. She changes into workout clothes quickly and yanks the door open.

Olivia and Symone are on the sofa huddled over Olivia’s phone, whispering about something. When Denali opens the door, their heads jerk up, and Olivia tosses her phone to the side.

Denali shoots them a look. “Uh, hi.”

“Hey, ‘Nali! How was your nap?” Olivia asks, shooting her a big smile.

“Good.”

Symone elbows Olivia and shoots her a glare. “Where are you off to?”

Denali looks herself over — she thinks her outfit is pretty obvious. “The gym.” She goes to the kitchenette and takes one of the complementary Team USA water bottles, filling it with Brita water. “Wanna come?”

“You’ll be back in time for the opening ceremony, right?” Olivia asks. Denali turns around and leans on the counter, brow quirked. Olivia’s smile looks panicked. “I just mean because, you know, it’s a big deal, right? And you don’t want to miss it. Or, you know, look like you just came back from the gym.”

Symone collapses back onto the sofa and throws an arm over her eyes with a huff.

“Are… are you okay?” Denali takes a few steps towards the sofa and puts a hand on Olivia’s forehead. It’s a normal temperature, thankfully. “You’re practically manic.”

Olivia nods. “Yeah, I’m great. It’s being broadcast on live TV, though, and I’m making sure you’ll have time to shower and look nice for the cameras. Just being a good friend.”

“Sure.” Denali laughs, because she’s not sure what else to do, and heads for the door. “I promise I’ll be back in time to look pretty.”

When Denali gets into the hallway, she lets out something between a laugh and a sigh. _What the fuck was that?_ she thinks. There’s nothing to do but shake it off, so she goes to the gym and gets in a quick but hearty workout — keeping her promise to leave ample time to get ready for the opening ceremony.


End file.
